Memories of Marduni in Meghri’s Final Bell
There’s the old saying, «կը մեծնաս կը մոռնաս» (guh medznas guh mornas), which translates directly as, “you grow up and you forget.” The way I have always heard it, it could be equated to, “don’t cry over spilt milk.” However, at the Meghri school graduation ceremony the other day, the phrase took on a much more literal meaning.
In 2023, during the great exodus of Artsakh, my Ungers, neighbors, friends and I helped move a few dozen families to Meghri, offering them homes to stay in rent-free, jobs and basic necessities. Those dark days of despair remain forever burned into my memory. Yet, there was also a sense of pride in our efforts, which could not have happened without the help of local people on the ground and the financial support of friends and family in the diaspora. Many of those families who found refuge in Meghri remain and have found new lives here.
On Friday, May 23, my wife Arpi and I arrived at Meghri School Number 1 just in time for the Final Bell (“Verchin Zang”) ceremony, which was very reminiscent of our end-of-year hantes at Taniel Varoujan Armenian Saturday School in Chicago. Beginning with the youngest classes and ending with the graduating class, children in traditional costume recited poems and sang songs. But as we sat outside the school under Meghri’s hot afternoon sun, one student drew all the attention. Lilit Asribabayan, an eighth grader originally from Marduni, Artsakh, wrote and recited her own poem—in her own Artsakh dialect—in front of a few hundred students, teachers, family and friends.
I tried to translate her poem but was unable to find the right words to do it justice. However, her message is so powerful that it bursts through, despite my limitations. She said:
“I was born in Karabakh. Every day, I miss our house, our yard, our neighborhood, each and every important little corner of mine. Now, there comes a time when children want to grow up. Yes, growing up is a great thing. I also want to grow up, but if I grow up, I will forget a lot of things. And the more I grow up, the more I will forget. And the years will pass me by. For when I open a window, breathing in the fresh spring air—but it’s not the same breeze. How can I say it? Over there, it was more fitting, more comforting; I was more relaxed. Here, I am a little more wound up. Artsakh for me is another world. Artsakh is a heart—my heart. I want to say that I really miss Artsakh and am always hopeful, faithful, that I will return home. And I will always be waiting to return. I know that we will return. With hope, with faith. We will return.”
Those of us in the diaspora who were fortunate enough to visit Artsakh will always cherish those memories—now more important than ever. That is why I didn’t want Lilit’s poem to be a memory of her school’s Final Bell or a video online, but for her words to be published, shared and live on forever. Below, I share Lilit’s original poem as she recited it in her Marduni dialect.
Ես ծնուալում Ղարաբաղ: Ամեն օր, կարօտում մեր տոնը, մեր թաղը, մեր հայաթը, իմ ամեն մի կարեւոր անկիւնը։ Օրինակ, տի դէպքա չէ ինում, վեր խոխեքը օզումն մծանան, հա, մծանալը շատ լեաւ պենա։ Ես էլմ օզմ մծանամ, բայց վեր մծանամ շատ պենում մոռանան։ Ու հինչքան մծանում, էնքան շատ պենում մոռանում։ Ու տի տարիները անցա կենում։ Վեր ակուշկան (պատուհան) պեցում անում, շնչում էն գարնան հոտը, բայց օզմ անկեղծ ասիմ լի վեր էն նոյն վետը չի։ Հունց ասիմ է, ինձետի դեղ աւելի յարմարա իլալ, աւելի հոգեհարազատա իլալ, աւելիում հանգիստ իլալ։ Ստեղ մին կուճիր լարւում։ Արցախն ինձետի մին օրիշ աշխարհա։ Արցախը տա սերտա։ Հսէ էս սերտնա Արցախը։ Օզմ ասիմ, վեր ես շատմ կարոտալ ու միշտ յոյսավ, հաւատավ վեր քինաննք մեր տոն։ Ու միշտ սպսլամում։ Ես գիդում, վեր քինաննք։ Յոյսավ, հաւատավ։ Վեր քինաննք։
– Գրեց եւ յեղինակեց՝ Լիլիթ Ասրիբաբայեան, Մեղրի, Մայիս 23, 2025
Unlike Lilit, for the most part, we Western Armenians speak, read and write in what is now regarded as Standard Western Armenian—having lost the originality, beauty and nuance of the dozens of dialects that existed prior to the genocide. Let’s hope Lilit and the rest of Artsakh’s displaced Armenians will have the support necessary to keep their Artsakh dialects—not just as a spoken language passed on through generations, but also as a physically printed language to stand the test of time.
Garin
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